


Gone Fishing

by olehistorian



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olehistorian/pseuds/olehistorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hughes wishes to get an overworked Charles Carson out of the great house for a couple hours of solitude. What adventure does she have planned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Fishing

Mrs. Hughes knocked softly on the pantry door and he motioned for her to enter. Charles ran a finger horizontally across the wine ledger making sure that his figures matched. Without asking, she switched his desk lamp on. "You'll ruin your eyes, Mr. Carson." Charles grunted a response whilst still looking down at his ledger. Elsie knew that her task would prove difficult this morning; it seemed that the Butler was not interested in much more than his wine ledger. Charles' single-minded devotion to Downton Abbey's wine collection provided him with great satisfaction but Mrs. Hughes believed that he had been working too hard and she wished to get him out of the Abbey for a couple of hours since the family would be out for most of the day at a garden party.

"Mr. Carson, the family is out for the day visiting and we do have a couple of hours to spare so I was wondering…"

"….Mrs. Hughes I need finish with the wine ledgers," Charles cut her off. Elsie shook her head in consternation at the gruff bear of a butler and muttered something that sounded very much like "Suit yourself then." She then left him just as she had found him: hunched over his desk pouring over the wine ledger.

Mrs. Hughes went about her morning duties, inspecting her girls' work, running a finger across mantle pieces to inspect for dust, and plumping cushions on sofas. When satisfied that her maids had performed their duties adequately, she gave them some free time to enjoy themselves before they needed to prepare for the family's return home later in the evening. After she dismissed them, Mrs. Hughes retreated to her room for some much-needed peace and quiet.

After finishing with the wine ledger, Charles felt a sense of relief wash over him and he closed his eyes and laced his fingers across his stomach. He leaned back in his chair and hoped to catch a few moments peace whilst the maids and footmen hurriedly finished tasks in anticipation of their time off. Mrs. Patmore fussed over the recipes for an upcoming dinner and Daisy fiddled about with the new electric waffle iron that she had purchased. After a few moments of "quiet reflection" – Charles never napped whilst on the job – he rose from his desk chair to stride across the hall to Mrs. Hughes office. He wished to apologize for his earlier rudeness. He knew that he could be a bit crabby and that she did not deserve it. As he approached her door, something caught his attention. Charles looked down to find a note affixed to the doorframe and on it inscribed in familiar handwriting "Mr. Carson."

He took to the note from the doorframe and opened it carefully. He began to read:

Please go to your room and change clothes appropriate for a few hours outdoors. Meet me at the rose garden. EH

Charles, brows burrowed, stared at the note a moment contemplating what on her the woman had up her sleeve. He knew that she wanted him to take a break but why did she want him to meet her at the rose garden?

 

Charles arrived at the rose garden with Mrs. Hughes nowhere in sight. He took the liberty of sitting on a bench between two trailing rose bushes and looked at his watch. Just as he was looking at his watch, Charles felt a soft hand on his shoulder and he turned around. "What on earth?" he asked. He looked up to see his Housekeeper dressed in a cream blouse with brown skirt and a pretty, straw hat pinned to her hair. As he generally did, he surveyed her figure – he never thought she noticed but she always did and she smiled inwardly. Without knowing it, he always made her feel special. He noticed that she held two fishing rods (borrowed from the head groom) in her right hand, a blanket tucked under her arm, whilst a picnic basket and a tin can sat at her feet. Charles's brow furrowed and then he looked up at her perplexed with a half smile. "What's this?"

 

Charles and Elsie walked through the meadow near the Abbey along a path that lead to the small lake. The spring sun shone vibrantly and the tall grasses in the meadow danced merrily to the gentle breeze that brought with it the aroma of fresh wildflowers. Charles caught the faintest aroma of Elsie's perfume. He knew that she only wore perfume to church or on special occasions. Pleased that she wore it on this day, he enjoyed the sweet scent as it filled his senses. Charles carried the picnic basket and the tin can that he assumed held the bait for their fishing expedition. Mrs. Hughes tucked the blanket under an arm and the two fishing rods out in front of her as she walked whilst she marveled to herself that Mr. Carson had agreed to accompany her on their little outing. She had never known Charles Carson to be the outdoors type, though she knew he took a keen interest the gardens and that in years past, he ventured out to the stables on occasion. "I am glad that you came with me, Mr. Carson. We needed a bit of a break. It has been rather busy with Lady Rose's wedding. We can catch our breath now."

"I must say that I am glad to have Lady Rose's wedding behind us," Charles sympathized as he walked beside the Housekeeper. "I dare say that the house will be quieter now."

"I should certainly hope so. Well, Mr. Carson, it seems that we've reached our destination," Elsie offered with a smile. "Why don't we spread the blanket here?" Elsie leaned the fishing rods against a nearby tree and Charles placed the basket and tin can nearby. Together they spread the blanket with the small flowers on a grassy spot with just enough shade and springtime sun. "Now Mr. Carson, let's set about finding our bait. If you'll fetch the tin please." Charles' brow furrowed and he looked profoundly perplexed. He had not expected to dig about under roots and rocks and under stumps and stones for…for….worms. He was not squeamish about such things but it had been years since he had rooted about for the squiggly creatures. Elsie noticed his hesitation and smirked, "Don't tell me that Charles Carson, Butler of Downton Abbey who has hosted some of those listed in Burke's Peerage is afraid of digging for a few worms?"

Charles cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. "Of course not! It's just that I have not foraged for worms since I was a young lad fishing with my father."

"Well even adults need to play in the dirt a little Mr. Carson. It reminds us that once we were children," Elsie laughed joyfully. Charles retrieved the tin as she had instructed him and they began to turn over rocks, limbs, and dig around stumps. Charles found that he actually enjoyed himself. As with everything he did, he made a mission of finding worms. He searched for the biggest ones, the fattest ones and before long, the Butler and the Housekeeper found themselves in a competition as to who could collect the best specimens. Elsie proclaimed that she had won. Charles, thrilled at having such a good time despite his earlier misgivings and enamored with her smile, agreed: Elsie Hughes had one the First Annual Downton Abbey Worm Finder's Contest. Elsie delighted in seeing Charles relax; it had been a while since she had heard his deep, throaty chortle and she thought that she caught just a fleeting glimpse of the boy he must have been.

With a tin full of the finest, fattest worms Downton Abbey offered, Charles and Elsie began to ready their equipment. "I didn't know that you enjoyed fishing, Mrs. Hughes?" Charles inquired as he baited his hook with the squiggliest of worms.

Elsie, struggling with a squiggly worm of her own replied, "Well, it isn't something I do often, but when I want to remember times I spent as a lass with my grandfather, I borrow a fishing rod from Mr. Brown and come here, to the lake. Fishing here of course is a little different. In Argyll, my grandfather took me with him when he fished for trout. I didn't get to go often, but when I did it was magical." Elsie smiled wistfully with tears wetting her eyes. "Well, let's see if we can interest the fish a little." Elsie cast her line into water followed shortly by Charles who cast his line a few yards away. The Butler and Housekeeper secured their fishing rods between two rocks so that they could sit back little and enjoy the landscape. They settled onto the blanket and Elsie toed off her shoes and stockings, running her toes playfully through the soft grass.

"I can't say that I fished much as a lad. I didn't have the patience then," Charles confessed. Charles was as relaxed as she had seen in quite a long while. He rested on his side facing her, his elbow propped and his head resting in his hand. The errant curl that sprung loose occasionally draped over his forehead and Elsie fought the intense urge to push it back.

"Oh, Mr. Carson my grandfather taught me that some of life's best lessons are learned whilst fishing," Elsie countered as she leaned back resting her weight on her hands. Charles, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, noticed her form and her womanly curves whilst catching the faint scent of her perfume. He studied her lips, her eyes, the curve of her neck, the little wisp of hair that had fallen loose around her temple.

"What lessons did fishing teach you Mrs. Hughes?" he asked with genuine interest.

Elsie thought carefully for a moment and then with a warm smile turned to face Charles. "Well, for starters, one needs to identify her prize. Once she has done that, then she must make a study of him. She needs to know his habitat. Does he travel far from stream to stream or stay in the same area? Is he shy and stays to the bank? Or is he bold and swims in the middle of the channel?"

"In your experience, Mrs. Hughes is one any better than another?"

"Oh, Mr. Carson. I would dare say not, but some of those close to the bank, they are more challenging. There are more places for them to hide. That is where patience comes to bear. Often times the more challenging the task, the greater the reward," Elsie replied with a smile and a slight wink. She hoped that she had not overstepped the invisible mark between them. She did love to tease Charles so.

"Hmm," Charles pondered. He wondered if they were still speaking about wildlife, but he was having such a marvelous time that he cared not one wit whether they were or not. "So what else did your grandfather teach you?"

Elsie turned her gaze back to the lake in front of them. "Well, that I should know his habitat. Where he lives and what makes him comfortable. His likes and dislikes. For example, there are small, brown trout in the streams and rivers in Argyll and you have to use just the right type of fly and set it just so on the water so to attract the fish. It really is a science. Lord Grantham has a volume on Fly Fishing in the library. You should endeavour to read it Mr. Carson."

"So, this shy fish, the one that stays close to the bank. How would you approach him?" Charles asked curiously. Daft man. Most people can talk about things plainly, but I must bring him out to the lake and talk about fish to try to make him understand, she thought.

"Well, if this fish were very shy, but worth catching, I would study him carefully. I would pay attention to the things that he liked, what kind of bait he was attracted to, and then that is what I would offer him. Then, of course, I would wait. Because I can only set the hook, he must take the bait," Elsie concluded half-amused at her own explanation. What would Beryl Patmore think about this conversation, she wondered.

Elsie noticed that her fishing rod began to bob up and down and she hurried excitedly toward bank to retrieve it. Charles marveled at the excitement of the usually stoic housekeeper. For a moment, he thought that he saw the girl that fished with her grandfather in Argyll. He watched as she pulled the rod from its resting place and began to reel in the line. Charles thought that he knew the housekeeper well, and he did, but this side of her he found fascinating: the remnants of the farm girl, long forgotten.

He pushed himself off the ground and raced up behind her. "Mrs. Hughes, I do believe that you have one on the line" Charles exclaimed as Elsie began to struggle and the tip of the rod bowed with pressure.

"I do hope so, Mr. Carson. Patience usually does pay off," she chirped as she turned the crank of the reel vigorously. As Elsie continued to reel her catch in, Charles noticed the wide smile on her face and the crinkles around her eyes as the smile spread through them. As she finally gained command of the fish on her line and pulled it to shore, Charles leaned down and pulled it from the water and to the bank. He gently pulled the small hook from the poor soul's mouth and held it up for all to see.

"Here we are, Mrs. Hughes. Success!" Charles beamed as he held a small bream of two pounds up in the air. "Your lessons paid off. You caught him."

 

After an hour of fishing, Charles having caught ten bream and Elsie seven, they settled down to investigate the contents of the basket Mrs. Patmore had prepared for them. They enjoyed sandwiches, some fruit and two slices of apple tart, and washed it all down with some tea. Elsie was thankful that Mrs. Patmore had remembered to pack the apple tart; you must bait the line, she laughed to herself. Charles ate like a ravenous school lad then lay back on the blanket rubbing his stomach. He could not remember when he had been so content. Elsie carefully repacked the basket and placed it to the side. She leaned back against a tree allowing the sun to caress her skin as she closed her eyes reflecting on the solitude and quiet of the outdoors.

After a few moments, Charles began to stir. "Mrs. Hughes," Charles started "I've been thinking. You are a very good fisherman."

"Ummm," Elsie mumbled, eyes still closed.

"I am glad that you've shown patience with the shy fish," Charles almost whispered. Elsie simply listened, eyes still closed, sun bathing her flesh with its warmth as Charles timidly continued. "You certainly know his habits, his likes and dislikes. You are patient with him as he retreats when afraid."

"Charles, we aren't speaking about bream are we?" Elsie bit down on her lip to suppress a smile. Elsie Hughes, a plotter if ever there was one.

"No," Charles rumbled. "If you could continue to be patient for a while, Mrs. Hughes, and if what we talked about today is what I think it may be, then perhaps, we could have many days by the lake. Digging for worms, casting for fish, enjoying picnics. If you would like, that is."

Elsie finally opened her eyes and looked at Charles earnestly. "I would Mr. Carson. Very much."


End file.
